


When We Leave Our Past Behind

by Mystrana



Series: Our Memories [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky is in a dark place, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystrana/pseuds/Mystrana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of CATWS, Steve is obsessed with finding Bucky; Bucky is overwhelmed by his new-found "freedom" and his lack of identity. And no one is quite sure whether the two of them being together will be helpful or harmful. Chapter Five: Steve's been kidnapped and Bucky is forced to confront some of his inner demons if he wants to help find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leave My Body

_I don't want your future / I don't need your past_

_I'm going to leave my body / I'm gonna lose my mind_

_Florence + The Machine – Leave My Body_

 

 

The day that Steve Rogers left for his trip to New York, Sam Wilson had a new visitor to his PTSD support group. The new guy showed up a minute before the session began and sat in the back, his dark hair pulled back and mostly kept under control by a baseball cap.

Sam Wilson was a professional. He gave an acknowledging nod with no hint of recognition. Later he would admit he had to push aside the thought that the session might become a bloodbath.

He started the group off as he always did, with a brief welcome and let the group set the pace for the next few minutes.

One man, thin and graying around the temples, spoke first. He was unable to drag his eyes off of the ground as he confessed that he found himself waking up in the middle of the night screaming from nightmares. He paused. “My daughter is so afraid of me that she won't come into the living room when I'm there if my wife isn't there too.” Another pause, and he forced himself to look up, to connect with Sam as he said, “And I'm afraid that she's right to worry.”

Sam regarded him with compassion as he spoke briefly about how to explain trauma to children and mentioned a child support group that met on Thursdays.

Throughout the next hour, people shared their thoughts and worries and fears; most people at the meeting spoke at some point for a line or two, but several did not. Sam was not surprised that the person he suspected to be Bucky Barnes did not say a word, just sat and stared at each person in turn as they spoke, his expression dull and his face in need of a shave.

When the session ended, everyone filed out. Sam half expected Bucky to approach him, but Bucky was one of the first to leave.

He wasn't expecting Bucky to be waiting in the hallway, staring off towards the exit. Bucky didn't seem to notice as Sam walked nearer, but at the last second he turned with a quiet swiftness that betrayed his years of training.

“Hey,” Sam said, waiting to let Bucky determine the path of their conversation.

Bucky nodded acknowledgment, but said nothing and Sam waited patiently. He noticed the dirtiness of Bucky’s shirt and pants and though the pair of gloves covered his metal fingers, they still stood out as an unusual choice for the fair Washington DC May.

When the silence ran from seconds into minutes, Sam spoke up again. Maybe Bucky needed a push. “You think I'm going to see you at the next meeting? You're always welcome.”

Bucky started what might have been a nod and then shook his head. When he finally spoke, his voice was scratchy, like he had just gotten over a cough. “I don't think I can relate.” His eyes pierced through Sam as he spoke again. “I found myself wishing that I only had to deal with a terrified child or an upcoming divorce.”

Sam nodded. He didn't want to push too hard, but he knew that if Bucky came to even just one meeting, he had to take the chance that he was trying to reach out. Not just for Steve, who had been increasingly frustrated over their inability to find Bucky, but for himself. A traumatized vet was a person and vets were his responsibility. “Have you considered one-on-one therapy?”

This time, Bucky replied with only a brief pause. “I don't know. I'm not even sure what all I'm dealing with. In there, they could all nod when someone talked about walking across the street to avoid trash cans. But who the hell is going to understand when I say I have a fear of falling asleep because I don't know what year it's going to be when I wake up.”

“I could never pretend to understand exactly what you're going through,” Sam said, “But I can promise that we can work towards something better for you.”

Bucky looked at Sam, as if seeing him for the first time. “You can't tell Steve I was here.”

Sam grinned. “If you agree to a few therapy sessions, then you've got doctor-patient confidentiality on your side.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You'll understand when I say I'm less than trusting in that concept. I’ve had too many bad experiences with men who call themselves ‘doctor.’”

The grin left his face immediately. “Sorry,” Sam said sincerely. “I give you my word I won't tell him. Clearly, if you wanted him to find you, you'd let him know.”

With a nod, Bucky set off towards the exit. “See you soon,” he said, his abrupt end of the conversation taking Sam off-guard.

Sam shook his head as he watched the door close behind Bucky. He turned their words over in his mind while wondering what Steve was up to in New York.

 

*

 

Steve was up to his armpits in warm, steamy water. The city lights blinked in the distance as he sat in the hot tub – at Tony Stark's continued insistence.   
  
_“You have to learn to relax,” Tony had said a half hour earlier._

_“I am relaxed,” Steve had replied through gritted teeth._

_“Then why is it that what once was a pencil is now dust in your hand?” Tony had pointed out and Steve had sheepishly looked down at the pieces of graphite, wood and eraser he had crushed in his grip._

Now the two men were sitting in the large hot tub and Steve was begrudgingly thinking that it did feel good. The thought made his slowly relaxing shoulders tense.

“You know, you're remarkable,” Tony said.

“Oh, yeah.” Steve replied, not in the mood for witty banter.

“Most men would, you know, relax if they were in a whirlpool looking out at the city with the knowledge that anything they wanted was only a call away. You, instead, are only looking more angry than normal.”

“I'm looking angry because I'm sitting here in useless luxury instead of trying to find my friend,” Steve spat out. “I came to you for help, not for some sort of vacation. I don't need a vacation; I need to find Bucky.”

“You need to relax,” Tony replied. “You need to think this through better, my friend.”

Steve sighed, sinking further down into the water. “I don't understand why he's staying hidden. I know he recognized me. I know he remembered me.” He looked across the steamy water to where Tony was sprawled out along his side of the hot tub. “I know he's the one who pulled me out of the river. So why leave?”

“Because he's a ghost, Steve,” came the matter-of-fact voice of Natasha Romanoff. Clad in a yellow bikini, she walked up to the edge of the pool next to the hot tub and dove in, resurfacing a moment later. “And ghosts know how to hide.”

“He was only a ghost because they planted him where he needed to be and took him when he was done. He didn't have a choice,” Steve said.

“He has a choice now,” Natasha replied evenly, before stretching out in the water, reaching her arm out and beginning to swim slow laps.

“He probably feels like he doesn't have a choice,” Steve said, his voice rising as he stood up in the water. “He probably feels like he'll be hunted down or, worse, captured and forced to kill if he resurfaces. He's probably cold and alone somewhere while I'm wasting time on this bad decision of a trip.”

“Steve,” Tony said, keeping his voice only slightly raised so that it would be heard, “I don't doubt that you want to find him and I don't doubt that what you're saying is true. What I do doubt is that going back to DC and smashing every rock until you find him is going to work. We need to look at this from another angle and no, it won't kill him if you enjoy a moment of your life for one damn evening while we think it over.”

Natasha paused in her swimming and, pulling herself out of the pool, stood and tilted her head towards Steve. “Tony's actually not that far off the mark,” she said. “Listen, you might know his past, but I understand his present. I've gotten red marks in my ledger the same way he did and those don't just go away with a friendly smile and a 'good to see you again.' It takes time.”

She walked across the tile floor and gracefully lowered herself into the hot tub. “And while I don't condone much of Tony's frivolities, I do know that you're going to need all of your energy and, yes, happiness, to be there for Bucky when he's ready.” She looked up towards Steve and let her eyes settle on his flag-printed swim trunks. “Nice suit, Captain.”

Steve flushed, a faint pink rising up around his ears. “Tony lent them to me.”

Across the hot tub, Tony put his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “I simply like to be prepared for when friends visit.”

 

*

 

Three days passed before Bucky Barnes showed up at the VA center again. He was wearing the same clothes. He really needed to shave. Sam ignored that and greeted him with a few short but warm words.

“Let me get right to it,” Bucky said, speaking quietly and carefully. “I don't remember who I was; I've been to that damned memorial in the Smithsonian five times and it's like reading a book about someone else. I don't know who I am now.”

“It's my understanding that you've been through some severe retraining, to put it lightly,” Sam began. “I would be amazed if a few read-throughs of your biography would put everything back in your mind.”

“But I feel nothing about it. I don't know if I want to truly remember. I think it might make what I'm feeling now worse.” Bucky had sat down, but he quickly stood up, pacing back and forth in the small office. “No one has come after me and it's been two weeks. I can assume I'm free for now. But what does that even mean?”

“And you don't want to take up connections with your old friend?” Sam asked.

“Steve would -” Bucky stopped. “Steve would take this so personally. I keep imaging how we'd be sitting there and he'd start to reminisce about some crazy thing we may have done as kids – and he'll have that big goofy grin on his face as he remembers and then he'd turn to me and realize that I'm just hearing his words as a story and then he'll become quiet and I can't be responsible for that.”

Sam nodded slowly. “I won't put words into his mouth, but I will say that he's hurting now too. He misses you.”

“I think I miss him,” Bucky admitted. “But the feelings come and go. Now is not the time for me to talk to him.”

Knowing when to back off, Sam let the conversation move on. “Like you said, you're free. Which is great when we celebrate on the Fourth of July or something, but what does it mean to you right now? What are you doing for a place to stay, for food to eat?”

Bucky went back to pacing. “I haven't got a place to stay and I haven't got food to eat. Mostly been hiding.”

“From?”

“Do I need to spell it out? Hiding from Hydra, hiding from Steve. I don't know. I took some food from a cafeteria the other day.”

Sam grabbed a bottle of water from his drawer and offered the unopened beverage to Bucky, who took it slowly and gave it a wary once-over. Satisfied, or perhaps too thirsty to care, he uncapped it and took a long drink, draining half of the bottle swiftly.

“I think that should be our first goal. I'm not saying forget who you were just like that,” Sam said quickly when he saw Bucky's reaction. “I'm saying you can't move forward if you don't have a foundation to build on. You're with me, right? You know this. It's every person's basic human nature to want to be safe. You are a human just like us.”

The whirr of gears and metal as Bucky pointedly moved his metal arm echoed loudly in the small office.

“I stand by what I said,” Sam replied to the unspoken comment. “You want to tell me about your dream house?”

Bucky sat down and pressed his lips into a thin line. “Every place I've ever dreamed of living in is probably destroyed. Or unrecognizable.”

“You want to stay in DC for now? At least while we're doing these sessions?” Sam didn't bring Steve up again, but he was beginning to suspect that despite Bucky's spoken wish to remain away, his unconscious wish was to be close to his friend.

“I've got no money, no credit, no place to go,” Bucky said, shrugging.

“Your circumstance is certainly a bit more daunting than most,” Sam said, and when Bucky leveled an unamused glare his way, he amended, “Than any. I'm not trying to belittle your situation. What I'm saying is that I can use a few connections to get you a start.”

“I don't want your charity. I don't want your pity,” Bucky said, almost spitting out the word “pity.” “What I want is your help sorting out my head.”

“And I can't do that if I'm not sure you have a place to stay when it rains,” Sam replied calmly. “It's not charity and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop thinking I'm doing this out of pity.”

Bucky took a deep, shuddering breath. He sat down again. “I don't want to stay somewhere Steve could find me. I don't want him to find me until I'm ready – until I'm more ready,” he corrected himself, though he could not say out loud the truth – he didn't think he'd ever be ready.

“It won't be much, but it'll be clean. I've got a friend who runs a few rooms for rent.”

“I'm not doing a group home,” Bucky said immediately. “I don't want anyone that close. I don't trust them; I don't trust myself.”

“I think she's got a studio apartment as well. I'll check with her before you leave.” Sam looked at Bucky's clothes. “If I recall, it's sparsely furnished and we have a small wardrobe you can borrow. I hope you don't mind hand-me-down t-shirts.”

Bucky sat quietly, thinking the offer through. Finally, he said, “I’ll make it work. Why are you being so helpful? I tried to kill you… right?”

“I wasn't sure if you remembered that,” Sam said, “But I figured if you still wanted to kill me, you would be doing that. I can tell that whatever happened to you runs deep, but man – you're just trying to find your way now.” He lowered his voice. “And I've seen plenty of vets come up to these doors day after day looking for the courage to walk through and admit they need help. You walked through, you said you needed my help. There's no way I'm going to turn you away when you're willing to try.”

 

*

 

“So how was your trip to New York?” Sam asked over dinner that night. Steve was sitting across the table, the restaurant a loud and busy joint a couple of blocks from the VA building.

“I was hoping for a lot more,” Steve said, contemplating his food. “Anything happen while I was gone?”

Sam took what he expected was a fairly casual bite of his sandwich before answering. “The usual – I led my sessions, enjoyed a few early morning runs without you there to taunt me.”

Steve smiled at that and Sam couldn't help but to smile back. There was just something about the taller man's easy grin that could put anyone at ease. “I'll fix that tomorrow,” Steve promised.

“What are your plans for the next few days?” Sam asked.

Before Steve could respond, a short woman with dark hair and dark eyes shuffled through the crowd, smiling brightly when she saw Sam.

“Hey!” she said, talking loudly to be heard over the noise of other people's conversations. “I'm glad to see you Sam. I was going to call you tomorrow, but this is even better!”

Sam recognized his landlady friend Martha and smiled at her, making a quick introduction.

“I just wanted to let you know I got your friend all set up at the studio and, bless his poor lost soul, he was so polite I couldn't believe anything you told me about him being a potential threat,” she said.

Steve arched an eyebrow towards Sam, who pointedly turned his gaze fully on Martha. “I'm so glad to hear that,” he said, wishing he had stressed just how confidential the arrangement was supposed to be. There was nothing he could say now except to promise he'd be in touch and to thank her again for working with him on such short notice.

Before she had disappeared towards the crowded bar on the other side of the restaurant, Steve was already asking questions. “So you've got a friend?”

“A guy's allowed to have friends, Steve,” Sam said lightly. “As much as I do enjoy your company, I have a few other people out there who would call themselves my friends.”

“A sudden friend who needed a short notice apartment,” Steve replied, his dinner forgotten on the plate beneath him. “Sam, did Bucky go to you? You can't lie to me about that.”

“Steve,” Sam replied, thinking quickly. He knew Bucky would be gone in an instant if he broke his trust. But he couldn't lie to Steve either. “You know I have confidentiality agreements with everyone I see,” he began, “And the person I helped today needs to know I meant what I told him.”

“Sam, you know how much I want to find Bucky and be there for him,” Steve started to say, but Sam cut him off.

“And I know you're not a fool,” Sam said. “This person I helped out today needs to relearn to trust and I'm not saying it makes me happy to do this, but I think that right now he needs to know he can trust me completely before he can move on and continue recovering. If you try to go to him, he'll know I lied and he'll be gone again.”

“I'm not thrilled with everyone telling me he doesn't want to be near me anymore,” Steve said softly, but his eyes had lost their steel conviction and Sam knew he had gotten through. “Can you tell me – is he doing ok? I want to be there for him more than anything, but if he doesn't want me -”

“I won't lie; he's not the person you knew before. But he appears well. You'll forgive me for not discussing him any further,” Sam said.

“It hurts,” Steve replied plainly. “Even before the war it was always him and me.”

“You have to have faith in him,” Sam said. “He might have gone through a lot, but he's your friend somewhere in there. Let's give him some time.”

“Easy for you to say,” Steve said, but he found that his dinner was starting to look somewhat appetizing again now that he knew Bucky wasn’t starving on the streets.

 

*

 

Across town, Bucky was settling into the small apartment. It was old and smelled like the previous occupant doused everything in rose perfume.

The landlady Martha had given him her number, said to call if he needed anything and stated that there were some groceries in the pantry if he was hungry. He had nodded and thought about smiling but couldn’t compel his face to form the gesture and so he had said thank you as genuinely as he could.

And she had smiled at him with sadness in her eyes, and that was what he remembered.

He stretched out on the bed, his legs in front of him, leaning against the thin headboard. The bed creaked and groaned against his every movement, but the sound was better than silence. When he could no longer deny his full bladder, he stood and went into the tiny bathroom, keeping the light off and avoiding the mirror.

There was a shower stall next to the toilet. Some part of his brain reminded him that he hadn’t showered in weeks. A louder part asked who would care if he showered anyhow?

Bucky flushed the toilet and went back to the bed, turning off the light. But the moment he closed his eyes, he could feel the familiar chill resting within his fingers and toes, spreading up into his arms and legs.

“It’s not real. I’m free,” he chanted quietly, over and over, but the coldness spread into his chest and down into his stomach until he was shivering from imagined frostbite – the soft blanket on the bed did nothing to combat the icy tendrils snaking around his limbs and body.

“I am ok, I am ok,” he whispered over and over into the dark of the room, but his brain was screaming and his heart was pounding and he opened his eyes, breathing heavily.

The apartment stared back at him, unchanged. There were no so-called doctors in the room; there were no guards, no metal contraptions – he was safe.

But, like every other night, sleep did not come easily and the sun was beginning to rise by the time his eyes closed for a few brief hours of rest.


	2. Absent Without Leave

_With a winter heart and my frozen tears_

_I stand alone to face my darkest fears_

_I’ve been wasting away, I’ve been fading inside_

_I’ve been drifting away from the lights in my life_

_Sirenia – Absent Without Leave_

 

“Just tell me anything that comes to mind, anything you remember,” Sam’s voice cut across the room through Bucky’s thoughts and he turned to stare.

“Not much,” Bucky shrugged. He kept staring out at the taunting warmth of the sunshine. The sun itself was making fun of the coldness he felt inside, even on so-called gorgeous days like today. Bucky forced his attention towards Sam again. “I technically know where and when I was born. That I was in the war. Things like that.”

“What about Steve?” Sam pressed, gently. He was sitting in the chair by his desk, a notepad nearby that he used occasionally when Bucky spoke.

“That day they launched the helicarriers, Steve pulled a support beam off of me,” Bucky said, almost automatically. “I tried to kill him. He was my mission. I couldn’t.” He stood up from the chair, starting to pace side to side. “He was yelling at me, telling me –“ he trailed off.

“He wasn’t trying to get away,” Sam said, unsurprised.

“He told me my name. That we were friends,” Bucky said, running his hand through his shaggy mess of unkempt hair, looking into the distance as though the wall of the office was playing the scene in front of him.

“What happened then?” Sam asked.

“I had my arm up to finish my mission – and he – told me something,” Bucky took a deep, steadying breath, standing still and staring at the wall. “In that moment I knew it was something I had told him a long time ago.”

Sam waited for a beat before asking, “But that didn’t help you remember anything else?”

Bucky tore his eyes off of the wall and looked at Sam. “It’s like a movie in my mind that I know I saw but can’t quite recall.” He paused, running his hand through his hair again. “It was painful.”

“You felt upset to learn that he was your friend?”

“It was a headache. I didn’t want to remember. I was yelling at him to stop, to just shut up. It hurt more than being crushed under that support beam.”

“And you think it will hurt if you see him again.”

Bucky slowly nodded. “I don’t know if I want to remember.”

Their previous sessions had consisted of helping acquaint Bucky with the current year. This, their third session of the week, was the first that had gone back to the issue of his missing memories.

“What do you want then?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair.

The response was near-instant. “To figure out if I’m still a threat. I should be dead. Why should I exist?”

Sam regarded Bucky with a long gaze. “You can’t define your future by the events of your past.”

“I suspect I’ve killed too many people to believe that,” Bucky said icily.

“You didn’t do it because you thought it sounded like a fun way to spend the weekend,” Sam replied.

After a long pause, Bucky sat down heavily in his chair. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and defeated. “I don’t know that.”

“I’d like to have you talk to someone else today, if you’re willing,” Sam said.

Bucky looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “You don’t mean Steve, do you?”

Sam shook his head. “No, I thought we were clear on that – you’d have to seek him out or let me know to contact him. But you never said anything about other people.”

“Like who?”

“I was pleased to make the acquaintance of one Natasha Romanaff recently,” Sam said. “She didn’t tell me much, but I got the feeling that you two might be some sort of kindred souls. Would you consider letting her talk with you?”

“Do I have a choice?” Bucky said, but his face was more relaxed and his fingers had stopped nervously drumming on his leg.

“You always do,” Sam said.

“Fine,” Bucky said.

“Great, because I managed to catch her for today. Natasha, can you come in?” he called through the door.

Natasha entered the room and the blood drained from Bucky’s already-pale face.

“You.”

“Yes, me,” Natasha replied. She held out her hand. “I promise not to take you down if you promise not to shoot at me. Again.”

Bucky pressed his lips together before standing, accepting her hand and shaking it briefly. “I should have known I’d see you again.”

“We do have a funny way of meeting every so often,” Natasha replied. “Thanks for ruining swimsuit season for me, by the way.”

Bucky managed to look confused and frustrated at the same time. “I shot you in the shoulder. It was a clean shot – you’d have minimal scarring at best.”

Natasha lifted her chin to meet Bucky’s eyes. “You’ve shot me before then.”

His eyes dropped down towards the floor. “I don’t remember that.”

Sam interjected, “I don’t know if this is necessarily the stuff he’s trying to remember, Natasha.”

Natasha shook her head at Sam. “It doesn’t matter what he’s trying to remember.” She turned her gaze back at Bucky. “You’re never going to be a whole person again unless you accept what happened to you in the past and make a decision to keep going. I’m not about to share my life story with you to make a point, but I do take pity on Steve. He told me before that it’s been hard for him not to have anyone around who knows his roots. And I care for him and know what that’s like and I know he’ll be happy if you’re around.”

“It’s not like I can just decide to remember,” Bucky countered. “I’ve seen files on myself. I know I’ve been mindwiped and brainwashed and injected with a huge array of questionable drugs and supplements.”

“I think that your past comes to you in bits and pieces anyway,” Natasha replied, “And I think you’re scared to hold on to what you remember because so much of it is unpleasant. And I’m telling you, from experience, you have to make peace with the bad, because it can never just go away.”

“Every time I move my arm, I know that,” Bucky said, drawing his metal arm across his body. “Even if I don’t remember exactly what I’ve done. I’m not running from that.”

“Then why won’t you see Steve?” Natasha asked, her voice raised slightly. “Even if you don’t remember anything else, don’t you think you owe it to him? He risked his life to save you. You haven’t been wiped since then, have you? You still remember that, don’t you?”

Sam held up his hands. “I don’t think this is exactly what –“

Bucky cut him off. “Yeah, he risked his life for me, but I paid him back for that. It would only hurt him to see me like this. Why do you even care?”

“I told you. He’s my friend,” Natasha said. “And I’m sick of seeing him pretend like he isn’t upset that you’re not even attempting to talk to him. I might not know your whole story, but I know you. I know what you’re capable of and if you can shoot your target through me to make a kill, I am god damned positive you can handle talking to your old friend, even if you’re scared it will be painful.”

The moment dragged on as Natasha stared up at Bucky and he wrestled with what he wanted to say. Sam broke the tension with a loud, easy going laugh and they both turned to look at him in bewilderment.

“I admit, that wasn’t exactly how I pictured this going,” Sam said with a smile, “But Natasha is doing exactly what I asked of her in her own way.”

Natasha nodded curtly in agreement.

Bucky took a deep, quiet breath. It took a moment for Sam and Natasha to realize he was speaking in Russian.

When he paused, Sam looked at Natasha for a translation. She spoke first in Russian and then, when Bucky nodded, added, “He related the incident a couple years back.” She continued to hold Bucky’s gaze while she spoke. “He said he was sorry and I told him thanks, but to drop it.”

Bucky continued to speak Russian in a rapid clip and Natasha held up her hand. “Hold on,” she said. “You’re about fifty years behind with your phrases.”

Sam, who had been standing up, ready to break up a fight – and not sure if he would have been able to if it came to that – smiled again and sat back down by his desk, watching as Bucky and Natasha conversed for a few minutes.

Finally Bucky nodded again before sitting back down and addressing Sam. “That memory is much clearer in Russian,” he tried to explain.

“It makes sense,” said Sam thoughtfully. “Can I assume that there are less hard feelings between you two?”

Natasha pursed her lips. “Let’s not go that far,” she said, a small smile on her lips. “Maybe when my scars have faded a little more.”

Bucky hesitantly tried a bit of a smile himself. While the gesture didn’t quite reach his eyes, it felt closer to happiness than he could ever remember. “Thank you,” he surprised himself by saying. “I appreciate what the two of you are doing for me."

Sam smiled back and Natasha dipped her head in a half nod.

“I’m not doing this just for you, remember,” she said. “If you feel the need to talk again – I’ll find you.” She smiled pointedly as she left the room.

“Well, that went well,” Sam said.

“I guess it did, didn’t it?” Bucky replied. But when he closed his eyes for a moment, he wasn’t surprised to notice that his inner chill had not been warmed by the exchange at all. He caught himself from frowning, to try to keep Sam from suspecting anything was wrong. The few minutes that had felt like friendship and trust seemed to dissipate before him despite his efforts to hold on.

_I might not be capable of being a whole person,_ he thought as he exchanged his good-byes with Sam and confirmed their next session. _Will I feel this cold for the rest of my life?_

 

*

 

Steve paced his apartment like a caged badger, circling around and around on the wood floor until he drove himself crazy from the movement and then he sat down at his kitchen table, staring down at the Winter Soldier file that Natasha had provided for him. His legs moved restlessly against the lack of motion until he had to stand up again.

When Natasha let herself into his apartment, she found Steve with his shirt off on the ground doing push-ups.

“How many times do I have to ask you to knock first?” Steve asked as he lowered into another push up.

“Maybe you should leave a memo on the door,” Natasha suggested.

Sweat was dripping down Steve’s face, tracing lines down his back and chest. “To most people,” he said, “The door is the memo.”

“What’s up with the late night calisthenics?” Natasha replied, ignoring the jab.

Steve counted out ten more push ups before getting to his feet and going into the kitchen for a glass of water. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said.

“I hear that’s a problem for old men,” Natasha said sweetly.

Steve wiped his face and chest with a towel and shook his head. “What’s up with the late night visit?”

“I saw Bucky today,” Natasha said.

“I assume everyone has seen him except me,” Steve said. “I think a phone call would have sufficed for that.”

Natasha refrained from rolling her eyes. “I told your old friend that he needs to seek you out one of these days. I’m on your side.”

Steve bit back the “for now” response that almost burst out. Instead, he said, “That’s nice of you. Shall I sit around and wait for him to call?”

“He’s unstable, Steve. I don’t know what you should expect.”

“That was a joke, Natasha,” Steve said.

“It wasn’t very funny,” she replied. “Listen – he’s going through a lot more than he’s letting on and I think you can help him out. But – and you have to promise me,” she added, “If he does contact you and it’s not working out, you have to give him his space.”

“You know I don’t want to do anything to hurt him,” Steve said. “I’ve been like a broken record on that point, haven’t I?”

Natasha nodded. “I know that. But I recognize the pain he’s hiding and I’m telling you. I’ve been there. But I think he’s in ten times deeper than I ever was.”

 

*

 

Sam had talked to him about taking a shower, but when Bucky got home, he found it easy to ignore that suggestion.

Another restless and sleepless night left him with a change of heart – he was desperate for some sort of comfort, anything to block out the coldness he felt inside.

He purposely ran the water steamy hot so the small bathroom mirror would fog over.

Stripping off the borrowed t-shirt and overly loose jeans, Bucky felt something almost like relief when he stepped into the shower and let the hot water spray on his head, running in rivulets down his body and legs, the water draining dark with the dirt and grime of the past weeks.

Bucky sighed. The water was almost hot enough to chase away his inner chill.

There was some soap and shampoo on a built in shelf. Bucky took the shampoo and wondered if the brand was one that had been around when he was younger. The thought lingered unpleasantly as he scrubbed his hair, feeling the thick tangles and wondering when he had last combed it. He ran his fingers through the long length and realized he must look so different from his picture at the memorial.

The shampoo rinsed out, he grabbed the soap and began to scrub at his skin.

_Like a single bar of soap could clean the blood on my hands_ , he thought.

He couldn’t remember much, but the parts of his past he remembered were enough. Especially with his last mission as the Winter Soldier.

_There has to be more to me than killing and death_ , he thought, watching the soapy water circle the drain. But if there was, did it even matter? Nothing was the same as it was before, except Steve.

Bucky leaned against the shower wall as the thought he had been suppressing surfaced violently – what if Steve, too, was different now?

_And without my memories_ , Bucky thought sourly as the water pounded down on his back, _would I ever know the difference?_

His brain helpfully reminded him that Steve had tried to help him, even as he had beaten Steve roughly in return. “That’s how he is,” Bucky muttered to the shampoo bottle. “Always going the extra mile to get his point across.”

Suddenly, another snippet of memory wretched its way to the top of his consciousness. He could see Steve, small, knocked down in a dark alley. There were some garbage cans. The scene was fuzzy in his mind. Steve was getting back up.

“I can do this all day,” the shadow of Steve said, unsteady in his stance, looking up at him.

The water running down his back grew cold and Bucky clutched the shower shelf like a lifeline.

  
Had he been beating up Steve then too?

His breathing was harsh and loud in his ears as he slammed off the water. The steam had cleared out and Bucky found himself standing face to face with his reflection in the unforgiving glass of the mirror.

Some part of his brain shouted that he had been rescuing Steve, but the dead, hollow-set eyes that stared back at him drowned out any voice of reason.

Bucky reacted. He punched the mirror, the flesh of his hand tearing as the glass broke in jagged shards.

He didn’t notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. This took forever because I kept typing up scenes that really won't work until the later chapters. Silly brain of mine. Anyhow, I really appreciate the comments and kudos and everything. This story has been dancing around in my mind for awhile and I'm glad to see it resonates with others as well. 
> 
> See you next chapter you guys!


	3. Come Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard chapter to wrangle, but I'm really pleased with how it turned out. I'm keeping the Teen and Up rating for this chapter, but there is a bit of rough language. Thanks for reading; I hope you continue to enjoy it.

_I want to lay my head down_

_Come closer, come closer_

_Trying not to remember_

_Our most precious of times_

_  
Delain – Come Closer_

 

 

The first thing Bucky noticed when he opened his eyes was that he was lying in his bed, the sheet pulled up over his otherwise naked body.

The second thing he noticed was a dull, achy pain that shot up from his hand through his arm, leaving each individual muscle feeling like it was burning.

And the third thing he noticed was that someone was sitting at the small kitchen table across the room.

He sat up quickly, his metal arm sweeping around, fingers twitching when he didn’t feel a gun in his grip. The someone at the table noticed his movements and spoke up.

“Hey,” Natasha said, pushing the chair back and standing up, raising her hands to show him she was unarmed. “Welcome back to the world of the living.”

It took a minute, but Bucky’s heartbeat began to slow down and his mind quit yelling at him to kill her. Another minute, and he was able to speak. “What are you doing here?” His arm was still all fire and pain, but he didn’t look at it.

“When you didn’t show up this morning, Sam called me and asked if I would mind swinging by to see if you were still here,” Natasha said. “When you didn’t answer the door and Sam confirmed that you still weren’t at his office, I let myself in.”

“I see that,” Bucky muttered. As he sat up further, the sheet fell from his chest to his lap. His damaged arm moved to pull the sheet back up and he bit back a shout of pain as the fiery discomfort grew into a bonfire, the burning sensation racing up his arm and into his chest.

Natasha slowly but purposefully crossed the room. “I didn’t clean your wounds yet,” she said. “You were out cold, the bleeding had stopped, and I figured you could use the sleep.”

Bucky attempted a nod, but his heart was racing again and a shot of anything sounded really good right about now. Or to black out again. That would be even better.

“Right then,” Natasha said. “We can either get you to the hospital or you get the field wound dressing special.”

“No hospital,” Bucky managed. The hot pain had settled in his torso and he breathed, welcoming the sensations. They felt like an appropriate punishment for the memory that had tortured him in the shower. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was that shadowy memory of Steve being knocked down in the alley – presumably by his own hand.

Natasha simply nodded and handed him a couple of ibuprofen and a cup, which he carefully held in his metal hand. “On the bright side,” she said, “If what they did to you is anything like the changes Steve went through, your cuts should heal faster than normal.”

Bucky didn’t seem to acknowledge the statement. He was staring into the water. “Dunno what to do with myself,” he muttered.

“Well, I’m not a doctor,” Natasha said lightly as she knelt on the side of the bed and took his hand to begin removing shards of glass, “But I would recommend not cutting yourself on mirrors to start with.”

“How do I know if what I remember is real or not?” Bucky turned to Natasha, unable to hide the anguish etched into every line of his face.

“You take it one day at a time,” Natasha replied from experience as she removed piece after piece of bloody glass with a steady hand and a pair of tweezers. Bucky flinched with each movement. “Damn. You really had it out for that mirror,” she said.

For the next fifteen minutes, the only sound in the room was Bucky’s labored breathing as Natasha cleaned his wounds on his hand and arm and assessed the bruises on his head from when he presumably fell down at some point during his black out.

“Last one,” she announced, discarding the glass in the trash bag and wiping down the cut.

“I’d say I feel better now, but I don’t,” Bucky said, looking at his hand that was stinging from antiseptic.

Natasha walked back to the table. “Clearly you remembered something you didn’t want to. So if you’ve gotten through the last few weeks without punching mirrors, I can only assume what you remembered has to do with Steve.”

Bucky eyed her cautiously, but said nothing.

“Why don’t you ask him about it? He’ll tell you what happened,” Natasha said.

That question he knew the answer to. “What if he lies to protect my feelings?”

Natasha cast her glance skywards for a second before she replied. “Even if you remember nothing else about Steve Rogers, surely you remember that he wouldn’t lie to save his life.”

 

*

 

Steve Rogers was pacing again, this time in Sam’s office. Sam was sure he could see the groove forming and he thought about pointing out how Bucky paced the same path but decided this wasn’t the time.

“Relax,” he settled for instead. “I think you were less agitated when we were about to board the helicarrier.”

Pressing his lips together, Steve paused, nodding. “We had a good plan. I wasn’t nervous.”

“And we have a plan now,” Sam said. “Natasha is with him to make sure he heads over here – though I don’t think she’s forcing him.”

“I don’t know if she could force him,” Steve said. He was dressed casually in worn jeans and a t-shirt. “It wouldn’t turn out well for either of them if it came to that.”

“You’ve got that right,” Sam said.

The door to the office opened and Natasha stepped inside, followed by Bucky.

In that moment, Steve’s heart stopped. It had only been a few weeks since he had technically seen him last, but it still felt like decades had passed. He took in everything; the long, matted black hair. The dark stubble, the curve of his shoulders covered by an old t-shirt and his legs clad in ill-fitting jeans. The face, carefully arranged into blankness. The cuts on the arm and hand.

“Bucky,” Steve breathed the word as though speaking would cause Bucky to disappear before him. Steve wanted nothing more than to take the three small steps that separated them and wrap his arms around his friend who had been more than a friend once, whom he had spent so many years grieving for, but he waited. He waited despite the _I miss you_ and the _what happened to your arm_ and the _what can I do to help you_ that threatened to spill from his mouth if he opened it again.

He waited for half a minute that felt like another year.

“Steve,” Bucky said, his voice quiet.

The voice was different than his memories, but Steve found himself relaxing into an easy smile. “It’s been a long time.”

Sam and Natasha were talking quietly on the other side of the room, perhaps to give them a feeling of privacy, but neither Steve nor Bucky paid them any attention. They were too busy staring at each other, seeing both the familiarity they knew from before and the many new differences that had led them to this point.

“You were smaller,” Bucky said. The words were a statement and a question, uncertainty encircling each syllable.

“I joined the army,” Steve replied, hoping the familiar words would help his friend feel at ease.

Bucky ran his bandaged hand through his hair in an involuntary movement, grimacing in pain as the wounds made their presence known again. He brought his hand to his mouth as if to chew on his knuckles, a manifestation of agitation that Steve had never seen him do before.

“Earlier, on the helicarrier,” Bucky said haltingly. “You let me –“ he trailed off, his eyes darting from side to side.

An overwhelming urge to provide any form of physical comfort had Steve closing the distance between the two men, putting his hand gently on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky stiffened, raising his metal arm instinctively and then forcefully stopping himself. With a steadying breath, he nodded at Steve and sat down in one of the chairs, breaking the contact.

“Why’d you let me do that?” Bucky said. _Don’t make me say it. Why did you let me hit you?_

Steve sat down in the other chair. He and Bucky were sitting side by side, looking not at each other but forward at the wall. “I was willing to do whatever it took.”

The image of Steve’s bloodied and bruised head flashed in Bucky’s eyes. The image of Steve underneath him, not fighting back. Of Steve telling him _then finish your mission._

Bucky saw red. He shot up from the chair, slamming his metal arm around Steve’s neck and pinning him up against the wall.

“Why?” Bucky screamed out. He watched Steve’s eyes follow his own. “Why didn’t you just kill me? Why didn’t you kill me? I didn’t want this!”

Natasha used the desk to vault into the air, catching Bucky off-guard easily and bringing him down to the ground in a carefully controlled fall.

Bucky was writhing beneath her, trying to break free, but his efforts waned quickly and his muscles went slack as he gave up. She slowly and cautiously moved away from him, keeping herself in front of Steve who was taking deep, gasping breaths.

“You’re my friend,” Steve said quietly when he could speak again. “I don’t care what happened to you, but I know you’re the kind of guy that I save, not kill.”

“I don’t want to live,” Bucky said to the floor. “Not after what I’ve done.”

The subdued energy of the room left Steve feeling useless. It wasn’t like the war, where his goal was easily measured by progressive steps, by the number of enemies taken out.

“Bucky,” Sam said firmly but not unkindly, “Three people here think that you’re worth being around.”

“Two people only think that because they care about Steve,” Bucky replied. He moved into a sitting position against the wall, moving slowly lest Natasha try to take him down again. “If I didn’t have a connection to Steve, you’d ignore me or shoot me. I’d prefer the shooting option.”

“Steve has something to do with it, yes,” Sam said. “But I haven’t lied to you. I’m helping you because you asked for help and that’s my job and it has been my privilege.”

Natasha brushed her hair out of her face before she spoke. “I can’t say as many nice words as he can. But I understand where you are coming from and I think it’s ridiculous to throw your life away because of what other people have done to you. What matters are the choices you make when you have the ability to make them.”

Her last sentence hung in the air. _The choices I made when I had the ability to make them._ The memory of Steve being knocked down in the alley came into focus again and Bucky stood up abruptly, causing Natasha to tense, crouching into position to attack.

Bucky looked past Natasha to Steve, speaking with a desperation that gripped Steve’s heart like an icy cold clamp. “The thing you did on the helicarrier – have you done that to me in the past? Before the war.”

Steve racked his brain, trying to picture what Bucky could be asking about. “What are you talking about, Bucky?”

“Has it always been like this between us?” Bucky asked, his eyes red and wet with tears that would never fall. “Have I always been some sort of – have you always just let me beat you up?”

“I’ve never had to do that before,” Steve said, bewildered. “When would I have done that? We were friends, Bucky. You were my friend!” _We were more than friends._

“Then why do I see you getting knocked down in some alley when I close my eyes? What did I do to you back then?” Bucky’s eyes pierced through Steve. “Don’t you dare lie to me and say I didn’t.”

It clicked. Bucky was thinking of that time by the movie theater alley. Their last night together. “Bucky,” Steve said firmly, “The only punch you threw that night was at the guy trying to beat me up.”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me, Steve,” Bucky snarled. “I don’t remember another guy there. The only person I see in that memory is you.”

“I could never lie to you, Bucky,” Steve said. “Even if I thought it would help you somehow, I couldn’t.” He held Bucky’s wild gaze and prayed his words would be enough. “Even if I knew the truth would hurt you, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

His shoulders slumping, Bucky’s forehead came to rest on the wall. No one moved. No one spoke.

Bucky’s quiet voice sounded small amidst the dull roar of silence. “If my memories are coming back flawed, what’s the point?”

Walking around Natasha, Steve once again stood next to Bucky and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think your memories are coming back flawed,” he said in a voice so soft it was almost a caress. “I think that your memory was colored by your fear.”

Bucky sighed.

“Steve,” Sam said, “Why don’t you walk him through your version of the memory?”

With a nod, Steve began to speak. “I was at the theatre and the guy two rows ahead of me would not stop talking. I asked him to keep it down but he wasn’t about to take advice on manners from a little shrimp like me.”

Steve heard Bucky let out a breath of air that sounded almost like a small chuckle when he used the nickname Bucky had given him for one summer during their childhood.

“We were out in the alley and he threw some dang good punches. The kind I knew I’d feel in the morning,” Steve continued. “I tried to use a garbage pail lid as a shield. It didn’t really work.”

Haltingly, Bucky turned to face Steve.

“I was unsteady on my feet but I kept getting up,” Steve said. “But just when I thought I was going down for the count, you showed up and –“

“Damn it, Steve,” Bucky cut in, surprising himself most of all. “You were always picking on the bigger guys!”

“Everyone was bigger than me,” Steve deadpanned. “But I had the best back up a guy could ask for, whether you had my back or helped bandage me up later.”

Bucky smiled, a genuine smile that crinkled the sides of his eyes. But just as suddenly, the light disappeared from his eyes. Steve reflexively drew a breath.

“Damn it, Steve,” Bucky said again, the lighthearted tone gone. “That’s not who I am anymore.”

“No,” said Steve slowly, “It’s not. But it’s part of who you are.”

“Can I go now?” Bucky asked, refusing to look at Steve any longer. “I want to go.”

“Will I see you later?” Sam asked pointedly.

“You all know where to find me,” Bucky replied dully as he moved swiftly and silently to the door, letting himself out and stalking down the hallway.

Steve was staring at the space Bucky had been standing in.

“Doing alright, Cap?” Natasha asked him. He kept staring.

“Steve?” Sam said.

“What did I do wrong?” Steve said. “In that moment I knew he remembered how important we had been to each other. How important he is to me still. And he just ran from it.” _From me_ were the words he left unspoken.

 

*

 

That evening, Natasha had just put on a pair of red pajamas when she heard a knock. Her whole body tensed; she hadn’t let anyone know about the small apartment she kept in DC.

The knock came again. Grabbing a handgun from a drawer, Natasha moved to the door without a sound and looked through the peephole.

Bucky Barnes stood outside her doorstep, wearing the same shirt and loose jeans from that morning. He raised his arm to knock again, but Natasha unbolted the door to prevent him from making any more noise.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. His breath reeked of alcohol. “Are you drunk?”

Bucky walked into the apartment without a hint of unsteadiness. “I’ve been trying,” he admitted, “But however those goddamn bastards altered me – it’s not working.”

“Go home and go to sleep, Bucky,” Natasha said, pointing to the door. “You need sleep right now, not booze.”

“What I need,” Bucky replied, a dangerous glint in his eye, “Is to stop feeling this goddamn coldness in my chest.”

The distance between the two seemed to vanish instantly and Natasha found herself pressed up against the very warm, very hard body of one James Buchanan Barnes.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he replied.

Natasha paused for just a moment, but that was long enough for Bucky to press his lips to hers in a rough and desperate kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, I know, I know. Stay with me guys, I promise this is a Steve/Bucky fic. I just wish Bucky knew that.


	4. Midnight

_When all that you know / has fallen behind you_

_It’s not the past that you’re afraid to see_

_There’s nobody here and no one to find you_

_The Birthday Massacre – Midnight_

 

Natasha allowed the kiss to continue for precisely three seconds while she assessed the situation. Then she leaned back, swung her leg around and followed through, twisting her body to bring Bucky Barnes down for the second time that day.

He struggled half-heartedly underneath her. She narrowed her eyes. “If I have to do this again, I’m not going to be gentle.”

“I don’t deserve gentle,” Bucky said.

Natasha sighed, standing up and stalking to the couch, sitting down and crossing her arms and legs. “I’m not really a therapist,” she said finally.

Bucky was still lying out on the floor, eyes on the ceiling. “I know. You told me to talk to Steve and look where that got me. He’s so damned earnest. He’s exactly how I remember him. How I think I remember him. I don’t know.”

“He’s dedicated to his goals and will never stop fighting for what he believes in,” Natasha shrugged. “He’s never going to stop wanting to help you, so I figured you two might as well have it out.”

“It didn’t work,” Bucky said. He closed his eyes. “I mean it won’t work. Sooner or later he’ll get it through his head that I’m not the person he remembers and he’ll be disgusted and leave so why not skip to that part?”

“I understand where you are coming from,” Natasha said sharply, “But I cannot babysit you by myself any longer.” She whipped out her phone and made a call. “Hi. Yeah. I’m stealing your patient for a vacation. Uh huh. See you next Monday.”

Bucky propped himself up on his elbows and sat up. He didn’t move and didn’t ask any questions as Natasha went to her bedroom, emerging four minutes later dressed in black with a backpack.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“Where?” Bucky asked as he stood quickly, having to jog a couple of steps to catch up with Natasha as she strode out of the apartment without looking back at him.

“You’ll like him” she was saying. “He’s almost as annoying as you are. You guys can have a competition to see who I try to shoot first. It’ll be great.” She turned her head to flash a bright, brilliant smile that made Bucky shiver.

 

*

 

The next evening found a very confused Bucky wearing a pair of red star swim trunks and sitting in Tony Stark’s private hot tub while Natasha swam laps in the pool 

“Tomorrow I’ll set aside some time so we can look at that arm and do any necessary maintenance. When’s the last time you’ve had it serviced?” Tony was asking, breaking Bucky out of his fog of thoughts.

“I don’t know,” Bucky answered with a shrug.

“It’s really something,” Tony laughed. “You’re sitting here looking just like Steve did when he was here complaining about how hard it was to find you.”

“Oh,” Bucky said. He tentatively pictured Steve sitting the warm water. Steve’s face would have been twisted in concern and frustration. He’d be half-naked and – “Wait, what?” Bucky asked, realizing that Tony had been saying something else.

“Just like I told him, it won’t kill you to take an evening to enjoy yourself,” Tony repeated. “You should try to relax.”

Bucky didn’t make it a habit to relax in hot tubs with men he barely knew. But the water _was_ hot and Tony had a way of making people feel at ease.

“Tony,” Natasha said as she finished her laps and climbed out of the pool. She nodded towards Bucky. “I’m digging the swimwear. Do you just have a small army’s worth of swim trunks lying around in a closet somewhere?”

“I can’t give away all of my tricks,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow. “I simply like to be prepared.”

Natasha shook her head and Bucky couldn’t help but smile. He was pleasantly surprised when the cold feeling in his chest seemed to subside completely.

_Is this more like who I was before?_ he wondered and he let his hand move on impulse, hitting the water and splashing Natasha who looked at him first in shock, her mouth open wide before she bit her tongue playfully, dipped her hand into the pool and splashed back with a spray of cool water.

 

*

 

“What you need is a hobby,” Sam said, leaning against the tree and enjoying the cool shade.

Steve sat beside him, drinking some water. Their early morning run had been pleasant with the light June breeze.

“I’m serious,” Sam added. “With SHIELD gone and Bucky doing what he needs to, you need to fill your time somehow. A man cannot survive by working out sixteen hours a day, every day.”

A frown creased Steve’s forehead ever so slightly. “I can,” he said. “It keeps me busy, keeps me in shape and when Bucky’s ready, he and I can go help Nick rout out those remaining loyal to Hydra.”

“I thought you didn’t want to go with him,” Sam said, figuring there was no point in bringing up the fact that Bucky might want to avoid anything to do with Hydra.

“Finding Bucky was my first priority,” Steve admitted. “But now that he’s accounted for, I’m starting to think that Nick would probably appreciate some company.”

Sam laughed. “I only met the guy once, but I don’t think he’s ever admitted to appreciating company and meant it.”

Steve nodded with a grin. “That’s for sure. Alright Sam, til tomorrow.”

Waving to Steve, Sam couldn’t help but call out, “You could look into bingo. It’s all the rage with the elderly these days.” He smiled as he saw Steve shake his head.

 

*

 

“Steve.”

Someone called his name as Steve was putting his key in the lock of the door. He turned around to see Sharon Carter coming down the hallway towards her apartment and gave a wave.

“I haven’t seen you around much,” she said. “Been keeping busy?”

“I’ve been trying to,” Steve said. “How is your new line of work treating you?”

“It’s not too bad,” Sharon said, nodding. “Gives me something to do.”

“And it’s got to be a step up from having to babysit me, right?” Steve said with a friendly smile.

Sharon returned the gesture, her smile a shade beyond friendly. “Actually, I kind of miss that about my old job,” she said. “But I do remember you asking about a cup of coffee some time ago. Why don’t we grab that cup now?”

Steve considered the offer. It had only been several weeks ago that he had honestly thought about seeing where things could go with Sharon. She seemed both competent and confident – the two traits that described his two previous romantic interests. But those thoughts had been completely derailed with Bucky’s reappearance.

“It’s just coffee,” Sharon was saying with a laugh at the deer-in-the-headlights look Steve was sporting. “I’m not asking you to marry me by gunpoint or anything.”

“I know,” Steve said, putting his hands up in the air in mock surrender and running a hand through his hair as he considered his words. “I just want to be clear in my intentions. If we got coffee, it would be as friends.”

Sharon didn’t miss a beat. “Friends is fine,” she said.

“Great,” Steve said, fumbling with his key. “Let me just – I need to change.”

“Come get me when you’re ready,” Sharon replied. “You know where to find me,” she added as she unlocked her apartment door and went inside, leaving Steve alone in the hallway.

 

*

 

“I hate to say this,” Tony said as he ran his fingers along the metal of Bucky’s arm, “but they really did a – good – job with this.” He had a hard time spitting the word “good” out. “Not that I couldn’t do better,” he added quickly. 

Bucky decided there wasn’t anything to say to that and remained silent, willing himself to stay calm as Tony finished appraising the mechanics. Despite Natasha’s assurances that he was fine, the experience was still about ten steps too close to the process he had gone through before each mind wipe. And while the memories might not be as clear as they could be, his muscles remembered. His skin was clammy and cold and his heart kept beating as though it were trying to break free of his chest.

Tony noticed the physiological changes and pulled back for a moment. “I take it this is bringing up some hard feelings?”

Avoiding Tony’s eyes, Bucky made a curt nod.

“I don’t blame you,” Tony said. “And from what I can tell, your arm is basically in order. You could wait, although I can promise you excellent results if you let me get in there without worrying that I’m going to lose my head.”

“You could always break out the suit,” Natasha suggested, as she appeared in the room.

Tony looked thoughtful. “Might be worth it.”

Bucky had managed to calm his bounding pulse and slow his breathing. “I should be fine,” he said. “Can we take it slowly?”

With a smirk, Tony said, “Slowly isn’t really my style, but I’ll make an exception for you.” He laughed lightly, but Bucky didn’t seem reassured.

Still, Bucky managed to sit still, concentrating on his breathing while Tony carefully and precisely manipulated his arm. Finally, after an hour that felt like seven, Tony announced he was done. Natasha had left the room at some point, but Bucky couldn’t remember. The only thing he could remember was breathing in, one, two, three and breathing out, one, two, three.

“Go ahead, try it out,” Tony said.

Bucky stood up from the chair and was suddenly struck by a realization that forced him to sit right back down. Tony moved forward cautiously and quickly.

“You ok?” he asked.

“I’m – fine,” Bucky said. He paused. “I’ve never – this is the first time I’ve just stood up after having my arm worked on instead of being shoved into cryo or getting a memory wipe.”

Tony seemed suitably understanding. “Glad I could help.”

When Bucky stood up the second time, he remained standing as he tested out his arm movements. They felt lighter and more natural than they had before. “This is great,” he said. “Thank you.”

Tony opened his mouth to reply when Natasha reentered the room looking grim. “I just got off the phone with Sam,” she said, “And Steve has gone missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dramatic, I know. I hope you guys are still enjoying this, because I'm still happy to be writing this.


	5. Winterborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter. I kept thinking I should split it in half or something, but it really works best all on its own. So that's why there was a bit of a delay between this one and the last one.

_There is a winter in my heart so freezing cold and utter dark_

_It keeps me down and tears my sanity apart_

_And though my life’s a broken memory_

_There’s a door and there’s a key_

_Sirenia - Winterborn 77_

 

Bucky wasn’t sure if he was making the right choice. His heart was pounding and the ache in the base of his skull wouldn’t ease up. But choosing between helping find Steve or staying back at Stark Tower by himself wasn’t really a choice – even if he had no clue what the future held for himself and Steve, he instinctively had to help in any way he could.

He really hoped that staying out of the way wasn’t the only way he could help.

Natasha was sitting next to him, driving. Tony, clad in his Ironman armor, had flown ahead and had just confirmed contact with Sam three minutes ago.

It had been one short hour since Sam’s initial phone call that Steve had gone missing, but to Bucky, it felt like at least a week. He closed his eyes, trying to will the frozen feeling in his chest away, imagined it melting from the warmth of his anger and worry.

“Now’s not the time for a nap,” Natasha said tensely besides him and Bucky opened his eyes.

“Not tired,” he said, shoving his uncertainty beneath the cover of a grim smile and faked confidence.

“Good,” Natasha said, handing him her phone. “Time for our check-in with Sam.”

Bucky took the device and made the call. Some small part of him marveled at the hand held phone and wondered how Steve had reacted to the boundless advances in technology that had been made while the two of them spent their last several decades in relative states of endless sleep.

A larger part of his mind was in the present moment, listening to Sam.

“Tony and I finished tracking down everyone who was in the café where he was last seen,” he was saying. “Three eyewitnesses corroborated that Steve was seen with Sharon Carter, they were there for about forty minutes and then they left together.”

A brief flash of jealously chipped against the ice in his chest. Bucky realized he had felt this way before and a sudden image of a woman with brown, perfectly curled hair and painted red lips. _Peggy Carter_ he remembered and he remembered the way Steve had looked at her, decades ago.

“We can’t find her either,” Sam continued, “Currently we should assume they’re both missing and keep an eye and ear out for her as well.”

Bucky nodded, feeling himself being pulled to the past as more and more memories played through his mind. _The woman who greeted Steve when he saved us from the Hydra base. The way she smiled at him. The way Steve avoided Bucky’s gaze when he smiled at her._

“Bucky?” Sam’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Right,” Bucky said, immediately, glancing towards Natasha, hoping she didn’t notice he had spaced out. “Where are we at?”

“Give us two more hours,” she said as she smoothly maneuvered their car through another pocket of traffic.

And then there was nothing more to do but wait. And to try to avoid the memories that were bound and determined to be remembered at the worst moments.

 

*

 

Steve Rogers had one hell of a headache. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see he appeared to be in a small house, the counter of the kitchen in front of him and what could be the living room to one side and the dining room on the other. Nothing looked familiar. He tried to stand and found his feet were bound to the floor in thick cuffs. A smaller set of cuffs kept his hands together at the wrists, tightly bound.

“You’re awake,” an unfamiliar voice said from behind him.

No, wait, not unfamiliar. Steve turned as much as he could in his seat to see the speaker.

He was greeted by dark, close cropped hair and steely eyes several paces away, standing up from the couch.

“Rumlow?” Steve said, his eyes widening and then narrowing. “I thought you were dead.”

“That’s a dangerous assumption, isn’t it?” Brock Rumlow said as he took a step closer. “I was down for a few weeks, not out for the count.”

“I see that.” Steve didn’t bother to ask why he was here. Or where “here” was. He figured, correctly, that Rumlow would explain only what he felt necessary.

“We were close,” Rumlow said as he advanced. “Only a matter of seconds away from tipping the balance of the world in Hydra’s favor.”

“Yeah and now where are you?” Steve said, testing the bindings. They held very firmly.

“We had to backtrack,” Rumlow shrugged. “But in the grand scheme of our history, it’s only been a heartbeat. And now we’re getting ready to take back the future.”

“Grand words from a single man,” Steve replied.

Rumlow had reached the table in front of Steve. With a pleased grin, he grabbed the folder on the table and showed it to Steve – it was a dossier much like the one Natasha had given Steve regarding the Winter Solider. _Operation: Dark Winter_ was stamped across the top. “Bet you didn’t see this file in the little pile of documents you got your hands on, did you?”

Steve looked at the words, not recognizing them from the information in Bucky’s folder.

“Let me tell you something about your friend,” Rumlow said after a minute. “I wasn’t there at the beginning, when they first took him. But I heard the stories. Yes, your little ‘Bucky’ was a hard man to control. At first. They had to work diligently to bend his mind. It took him years to stop whispering your name. Did you know that?” he said conversationally, as though he were stating his favorite color.

His gaze steady, Steve said nothing.

“His own name, he forgot after two years of adjustments. But your name? It took them the better part of a decade to destroy the connection he had to you. Oh, it was worth it. He was already proving to be an amazing asset for Hydra; he was the best damn shot they’d ever seen. They were willing to keep working on him.”

“There’s a point to this?” Steve forced himself to match Rumlow’s conversational tone.

“Yes,” Rumlow grinned brightly, reminding Steve of the excitement that his ex-coworker had always displayed just before a successful STRIKE mission. “By the time I was part of the picture, he was completely ours. Our methods had improved considerably. And they’ve only gotten better. Sharon?” he called the name suddenly, throwing Steve off guard.

And then there she was, Sharon Carter, walking into the living area of the house with an easy stride and simple smile. She came to stand at Rumlow’s side and Steve suddenly remembered the solid and striking blow she had given him so suddenly when he had turned to go back into his apartment after they had coffee.

She stood silent and Rumlow continued, “Your friend here is only one of our newest members.”

Steve’s heart sank. Was there anyone he could trust?

“No, she didn’t come to us willingly. But once we had our say, she was so taken with our plans that she couldn’t help but agree to join up.”

“What did you do to her?” Steve said, unable to keep out the fury that surrounded his words.

“Nothing much,” Rumlow shrugged. “Let’s just say that our mindwiping and brainwashing techniques have advanced quite a bit since your friend’s unfortunate fall those seventy some years ago. And let’s just say that we are on the cusp of rewriting Captain America’s place in history.” He moved to the table, grabbing a black bag and thumping it down on the counter in front of Steve. “I hope you’re ready to come play on the winning side.” He smirked at Steve’s immediate frown. “Don’t worry. I have ways of helping you come around.”

 

*

 

Gravel crunched under the tires as Natasha parked the car at the small safehouse Tony and Sam had secured. Bucky was only a step behind her as they made their way to the door and were let in by a grim-faced Sam.

“No new leads,” he said by way of greeting.

Tony had set up in the corner with a relatively small bank of monitors. He was running information across two of the screens. Natasha went over to help and Sam motioned for Bucky to take a seat on the couch. Bucky sat down on the faded flower print.

“I’m glad to see you came for the ride,” Sam said and Bucky shrugged.

“Does Steve ever talk about –“ Bucky started to say and then frowned, cutting himself off.

Sam couldn’t read the look in Bucky’s eyes. He realized Bucky was, consciously or not, channeling the winter soldier, trying to relegate his thoughts to nothingness.

So Sam spoke casually. “Steve talks about a lot of things,” he offered. “Sometimes we just talk about how nice the weather is after a good run.”

Bucky was quiet, his limbs perfectly still.

“The problem is,” Natasha was saying from across the room, “If Hydra took him, there are no known Hydra bases in this area. They’d be transporting him –“

“May I see that map?” Bucky asked, suddenly. His voice was clipped, his eyes still emotionless as he stood up and walked across the floor, his walk purposeful but not rushed. He pointed to a small area just to the southwest of where they were. “That. There is one of the locations I was held.”

Tony looked somewhat skeptical. “You’re sure you remember this?”

Bucky’s gaze was cool. “I tend to remember the things I wish I could forget.”

“That’s a residential neighborhood,” Natasha said.

“It wasn’t much, just someplace they held me until it was time to make the hit,” Bucky said with a shrug that tried and failed to be casual.

Within minutes, Natasha’s car was crunching over gravel again as Tony and Sam took to the sky.

Bucky sat, vaguely aware of the steadily worsening headache as his mind began to replay bits and pieces of death and destruction caused by his hands. Bodies crumpling, faces crying out, the weightless feeling of a gun in his hands, feeling like it belonged there –

Choking back a sob, Bucky realized he was crying as they sped down the road, tears silently running down his face. The gray dashboard was a collage of dead bodies painted before him and closing his eyes didn’t wash them away. And he was willingly letting himself be brought back to Hydra where they could take him and make him kill again.

“Bucky,” Natasha’s voice cut dimly through his thoughts. He could barely hear her.

The first round of torture, in hindsight, wasn’t even that bad. He had been on a cold metal table and they had injected him several times in the left thigh. The painful injections had left him dazed, confused and unable to remember anything except his name and registration number, which he chanted to himself up until the minute Steve had been there to rescue him.

It was everything after the fall that was truly painful and coursing through his memory in crushing waves. The way he had held on to hope through the pain that Steve would rescue him again.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve never came.

“Bucky!”

The way they broke his mind, convinced him Steve never existed.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” Natasha’s words were followed by a swift slap and Bucky turned, blinking, to look at the person driving the car.

She looked familiar. He remembered shooting her.

“I don’t know what’s going on in your head,” Natasha was saying, “But I need you here, in this moment.”

Bucky stared at his hands, marveling at the way the fading daylight shone across his metal fingers.

“For Steve’s sake, Bucky,” Natasha tried.

He wiped his metal fingers across his face, noting the way his tears looked against the harsh silver, unlike anything he had seen before.

Natasha was saying something else, but Bucky didn’t really hear her. His mind had sifted through the memories and had focused on one thing only: he had an unfinished mission.

 

*

 

Steve turned his head, grunting as Rumlow’s punch landed square on the jaw. Steve spat blood at Rumlow’s shoes.

“I can do this all night,” Steve said, his face bruised and bloody.

“You say that all you want,” Rumlow grinned. “Because I can wait. I’ve got as much time as this takes.”

The evening chill had begun to creep into the house and settle on Steve’s limbs.

“Ready to come to the winning side?” Rumlow asked. It marked the beginning of the routine that had been playing over and over for the afternoon.

Steve said nothing.

“It’s ok,” Rumlow said, in what might have once been a soothing voice. “Sharon, if you would please –“

And then Sharon moved from her position by the counter to bring a filled syringe to Rumlow, who promptly turned and stuck it into Steve’s thigh without preamble, slowly injecting the fluid while Steve bit his tongue and forced himself to focus on a spot on the wall, to center himself as his mind began to go fuzzy and then after a few minutes, the feeling passed.

“What is your name?” Rumlow asked.

“Steve Rogers. So much for your fancy new methods.”

“Patience,” Rumlow replied. “We theorized that your enhanced metabolism would drag this process out a little. It’s no worry, especially because even if your friends have noticed you’re missing, they’re going to be heading away from here and towards one of our ‘known’ Hydra bases. No one knows this place exists.”

There was a splintering noise as Tony in his Ironman suit reduced the front door of the house to splinters. “You _might_ want to reconsider that statement,” he said pleasantly.

“On your left, Cap,” Sam Wilson whooped as he flew in through the open door, using his speed to take down Rumlow and the two tumbled into the back wall behind the counter, Rumlow breaking through the drywall into the back bedroom.

“Watch out,” Steve warned, “Sharon’s been compromised.”

As he spoke, Sharon pulled out a handgun, shooting several bullets towards Sam.

“On it,” Tony said as he moved swiftly to bring her down.

“She’s been mind wiped,” Steve said. His voice sounded unsteady and his vision was fuzzy around the edges.

Sharon fought back with conviction, but she was no match for Tony’s suit – he subdued her with a careful hold. “Sam!”

“Could use some help,” Sam yelled back as he scrambled behind the bed to block another punch.

“I missed this,” Rumlow said with a smile. “You and me, facing off like this. It’s been awhile.”

“Not long enough,” Sam grumbled as he threw himself down to the floor in a desperate somersault to avoid Rumlow’s fists; the guy was faster and stronger than before. “And here I thought a near death experience would wear you out a little!”

“You know the saying,” Rumlow replied, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!” His fist connected solidly with Sam’s chest, knocking the smaller man back against the wall.

Tony was still in the kitchen, binding Sharon to a chair as she struggled violently. “Come on now,” he said, “Don’t make this harder on us.”

There was another loud thud in the room behind them and Tony hurried into the other room to help Sam out.

“Hey, let’s try picking on someone your own size,” Tony said, grabbing Rumlow and throwing him across the room.

They scuffled, but Rumlow was no match for Tony’s suit and before long, Tony was binding Rumlow to another chair in the kitchen.

Sam was releasing Steve’s cuffs when Natasha and Bucky finally appeared in the doorway of the house.

“Bucky is not doing well,” Natasha said, standing in front of the man who was looking around the room without really seeing.

“Neither is Steve,” Sam said. “Steve, stay with us, do you hear me?”

“My name is Steve Rogers,” Steve replied softly. “My name is Steve Rogers.”

Steve’s voice invaded Bucky’s mind and his eyes snapped towards the figure slumped on the chair. Bucky moved quickly, his hand reaching out for a gun that wasn’t there as he strode forward, his mind blissfully blank except for the knowledge that his mission was standing in front of him, ready to be taken down.

Bucky reached Steve and everyone in the room tensed. Tony and Natasha both were poised to pounce and Sam held up his hand, warning them to wait a moment.

Steve looked up at Bucky and smiled through the bruises on his face. “It’s good to see you, Bucky,” he muttered before passing out, crumpling to the ground as Bucky’s eyes opened wide. He dove to break Steve’s fall, pulling his head onto his lap.

“It may be too late for him after all,” glowered Rumlow. Tony, having removed his face mask, shot him a glare.

“You’ll forgive me for not wanting to hear more right now,” Tony said, and conked him on the head hard enough that Rumlow slumped forward, dazed and partially unconscious.

On the chair next to him, Sharon was shaking her head as though she had come out of a deep sleep. “Where am I?” she asked tentatively, looking down at her arms and feet that were bound to the chair.

“Sharon,” Natasha said, looking at her cautiously, “Can you tell me what was going on here?”

Sharon shook her head. “Everything’s a bit fuzzy,” she said. “The last thing I remember is asking Steve out for a cup of coffee.”

“Steve,” Bucky was calling. “Steve, come back to us.” He was speaking softly, tears running down his face, falling onto Steve’s forehead.

Sam was looking through the contents of Rumlow’s bag and folder. “Have you guys heard of this Dark Winter Operation before?” Natasha shook her head, as did Tony. Sam flipped through a few pages and let out a low whistle. “Hydra has some ambitious plans to brainwash Steve and debut him as their new hero.”

“They’ll have to try a little harder next time,” Tony said, his brow furrowed.

After several minutes, Sam convinced Bucky to help him bring Steve to the couch to lie down and Natasha cautiously untied Sharon who began to explain more as her body finished metabolizing the serum Rumlow had injected her with. Her explanations seemed to coincide with the folder Sam had paged through, talk of a strong, fast acting serum with the drawback that it had to be injected daily.

Bucky stood guard over Steve as Tony made arrangements for Rumlow to go into custody and once that was taken care of, further arrangements were made for Sharon to be transported to New York under protective custody for some rest before a debriefing in the morning. That left just Steve, who was still lying on the couch. Bucky was gently tracing the line of his friend’s face, glaring at each bruise as though he could scare them away.

“He’s safe because of you,” Sam said quietly. Bucky shook his head.

“If I had been able to keep it together, we would have gotten here faster,” he said. His voice was low. “I was ready to kill him for a moment there. He was only my mission.”

“But you didn’t kill him,” Sam said. “I saw it in your eyes. You were never going to kill him.”

Steve stirred on the couch and all eyes in the room moved to him. Slowly, his eyes opened and he took in the faces around him.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “Fancy seeing you all here.” He looked up at Bucky with a shaky smile. “Now there’s a face I thought I’d never see again.”

Bucky bit his lip. Steve struggled to sit up and Bucky swooped down to help him stay steady. “You can’t just get up, give your body a moment,” he muttered. “You’re going to be groggy for several hours still.” He paused, his hand hovering above the wounds on Steve’s thigh. “Trust me, I know.”

Steve nodded and the movement made him wince. “Rumlow throws a mean right hook,” he said.

Sam laughed roughly. “I can attest to that.”

Natasha, who had been scanning the room for any other potential information, spoke up. “If he’s able to travel, I think we should get out of here, get him some place safe.”

“You up for a drive to New York?” Tony asked.

“As it turns out,” Natasha replied, allowing a small grin, “I’m curious to see what swim trunks you’ll have for Sam.”

 

*

 

Steve, Bucky and Sam found themselves in Tony’s hot tub the following evening, Natasha swimming her laps in the pool.

“I swear, no one knows how to relax around here,” Tony said, his arms spread wide on the sides of the hot tub as he leaned back and grinned. “You guys look like your favorite dog died. But we took care of Rumlow, Steve got a clean bill of health, Bucky seems to have most of his memories back – what’s left?”

Bucky was sitting lost in his thoughts. He closed his eyes, looking to see if that block of ice was still in chest. Yeah, it was there, but it seemed smaller, he decided after a few minutes. Maybe it would go away completely one day.

In the meantime, he had to talk to Steve, really talk to Steve, just the two of them.

Sam’s voice brought Bucky back to the hot tub: “I’m really impressed that you had not one, but two pairs of swim trunks with falcons on them.”

“It’s a superpower,” Tony said with a grin.

Bucky forced himself to ignore his suddenly pounding heart as he stood in the hot tub and moved towards Steve. “Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey yourself,” Steve said with a smile. His skin was looking better already, the bruises mostly faded and the cuts almost healed. Bucky allowed himself to think that Steve looked handsome. The thought brought a tiny smile to his face, which made Steve’s smile brighter.

“You think we could, uh, talk tonight?” Bucky asked. “If you’re up to it.”

“I’ll try not to let you know how much I’d like to talk,” Steve replied. “Sam said something about giving you space. Not smothering. That sort of thing.”

Sam laughed. Bucky tried another tentative smile.

“Let me get changed,” Steve said, “And I’ll come by your room in five minutes, ok?”

Five minutes went by blessedly quickly, leaving Bucky little time to panic. He had only just finished combing out his dark hair and secured it back in a ponytail when Steve knocked on the door of the room Tony had prepared for him. With one last deep breath, Bucky opened the door and let Steve in.

Steve was wearing casual jeans, a gray shirt and an adorably nervous expression. Bucky felt a pang when he remembered, really remembered how many times he had seen that expression before.

“There’s so much I want to ask about,” Bucky began after the two of them had sat down on the couch, “But I don’t know where to start.”

“Neither do I,” Steve replied. “But we don’t have to cover everything tonight. I hope that we can see each other more often now.”

“I don’t know if what I’m remember is always the truth,” Bucky confessed, unable to hold back. If Steve was going to reject him eventually, he had to put his cards on the table now. “And I don’t want to pretend that I’m ok. I’m still cold inside sometimes.”

Steve nodded, fighting the urge to hug Bucky. “You’re here. That’s enough for me,” Steve said.

“And what if I forget who I am? What if I try to kill you?”

“We’ll take it one day at a time,” Steve said. “I’ll be your friend no matter what. Besides, you’ve tried a couple of times and I’m still here, so I like my odds.”

Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes up from the floor to face Steve as he asked, “And what if I remember that we were more than friends, once?” He flinched, slightly, afraid to hear the reply.

“Then I would say that those times I had with you were some of the best memories of my life,” Steve said softly. He didn’t force Bucky to look him in the eye; he knew the weight of his words would carry through. “And if you wanted to be more than friends again, I’d love to take you out for dinner tomorrow night.”

“It might never be like it was, like what I remember,” Bucky said, tugging at the end of his ponytail.

“I don’t need it to be like it was,” Steve said. “I want what it is now. You and me, figuring each other out again. I’m ok with that, if you are.”

Bucky nodded, slowly. He turned to face Steve, his body taut with nervousness. “Can I – can we – I’d like to hold you,” he said.

“I’d like that too,” Steve said. He shifted closer to Bucky, letting Bucky wrap his arms around him. Steve put his hands over Bucky’s and rested his head against Bucky’s shoulder. They sat there like that for several long minutes in silence, enjoying the sound of each other’s heartbeat.

“I know that you just asked me out to dinner and this is skipping a few steps,” Bucky said, “But will you stay here with me tonight? I mean sleep only. I could use a warm body to sleep next to. Specifically, your warm body.”

Steve considered the offer for a moment. “I don’t want to pressure you in any way,” he said finally. “I’m serious when I say we can go as slow as you need.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “Stay. Please.”

They found sweatpants in the dresser, changed, and carefully got into bed together, Steve holding Bucky under the covers. He listened to Bucky’s breathing as it got slower and more peaceful before following Bucky to sleep himself.

That night, Bucky couldn’t say he was nightmare free, but he could say it was the most restful night of sleep he had gotten in seventy long years.

 

 

 

 

_What have we both become throughout these years?_

_Sirenia – Winterborn 77_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically "the end", but there's another chapter coming for the epilogue. Thank you guys for sticking around and reading this story. I had a wonderful time writing it.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say beyond the fact that this took a little while because I was considering how the next story will go. I hope that everyone who has read this through has found it worth their while. It means a lot to me to see people enjoying what I write.

“I’ve been on my guard since Hydra’s infiltration was revealed, but being on guard isn’t always enough when it comes to a man like Brock Rumlow,” Sharon said, shaking her head. “I’m still kicking myself, because if I had noticed him a second earlier, I would have brought him down.”

She was speaking to Natasha and Maria Hill in one of the Stark Tower conference rooms, two days after Steve had been rescued from Hydra apparently no worse for the wear.

Maria pursed her lips. “How did it happen?”

With a frustrated sigh, Sharon recounted the events, her arms folded across her chest. “Four days ago, he got me outside of my apartment building. I had been on guard for Hydra, but I’ll admit I didn’t expect Rumlow. He struck first and I got off a round to his shoulder, but he fought back hard and knocked me out. When I came to, I was in my apartment and he was nowhere to be seen.”

“How much time had passed?” Maria asked.

“A couple of hours according to the clock,” Sharon said. “I felt light headed and my memories of the past few days are frustratingly vague, like I was just watching myself without really being there.”

Natasha tilted her head. “Hydra chose you to get close to Steve. They were watching you two carefully it seems.”

“But he’s got someone else on his mind, doesn’t he?” Sharon said lightly. “He seemed so flustered when I asked him for that cup of coffee.”

“Turns out he and Bucky were really close back in the day,” Natasha said.

“No kidding,” Sharon said. “Seeing his friend like that must have been rough.” Natasha nodded.

“Sharon, we’re going to keep you under observation for a few more days in case there are side effects we’re still not aware of. I’ll be directly responsible for your stay,” Maria said and Sharon nodded, pressing her lips together in a thin line.

“I’ll stay willingly, but I want to know: under whose authority?” Sharon asked. “And you better believe I am going to make sure Rumlow pays for this.”

“SHIELD might have gone down officially,” Maria said, “But we’re running on SHIELD lite, if you will. I’m the acting director while Nick is away.”

Natasha turned towards Maria, her eyebrows raised fractionally. “SHIELD lite?”

“On Nick Fury’s authorization,” Maria said. “We’re drafting a new charter, rebuilding from the ground up. SHIELD as we knew it is gone. Unfortunately, we don’t have a terribly catchy name yet.” She paused, a fraction of a smile on her lips, “We used up all the good acronyms already.”

“You’ll have to work on that,” Natasha replied.

 

*

 

Bucky awoke early, as usual. What was different was the way he felt almost well-rested. And the way that someone else was next to him under the covers. He looked over and remembered that he had asked Steve to stay over.

“Good morning,” Steve said, opening his eyes and smiling.

“Morning,” Bucky replied. “Thanks for staying.”

Steve sat up, and appeared to consider his action before gently reaching out and pulling Bucky towards him in a warm hug. “It was no problem,” he said. “I thought about the times back when we were kids, with the couch pillows. This was better.”

Bucky frowned at that. It sounded familiar but he was unable to recall the specific memory Steve might be talking about.

It took only a second for Steve to notice the frown. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

“It is what it is,” Bucky said, but he was stiff in Steve’s arm and reluctantly, Steve sat back.

“Well, we’ve got a busy day to sort through,” Steve said, “Why don’t we get ready?”

Bucky nodded, forcing himself to push the forgotten memories to the side and to focus on the day ahead. “Yeah, Sam wanted to make sure I came by to see him this morning,” he muttered.

“Sounds good,” Steve said, getting out of bed. He was still wearing the gray sweatpants and the t-shirt from last night. Bucky found himself staring and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “Are we still on for dinner tonight?” Steve asked.

Nodding was good. Bucky nodded again. “Let’s plan on it,” he said. It seemed like Steve was considering his actions again. “What?” Bucky asked.

“Oh, I was wondering,” Steve said softly, “Would you like to go shopping later, maybe before we eat? I don’t mind setting you up with some clothes to call your own.”

“I don’t want your pity, Steve,” Bucky said and flinched at the way the words rang harsh in his ears.

“No pity, Buck,” Steve replied. “Never pity.”

Bucky looked up at Steve and saw the truth in his eyes, warm and welcoming. Bucky shook his head. “You’re so damned earnest,” he said. “Have you ever told a lie in your life?”

“Depending on your definition of lie,” Steve said, “I did try to join the army again and again despite being rejected.”

“And look where that got you,” Bucky said, shaking his head with a little smile.

“Look where it got us,” Steve said, holding his long-lost friend in a tight hug, as if he was scared to let go.

 

*

 

“Every one of those marks is a potential Hydra cell,” Maria Hill said, one hand on her hip, the other using a pointer to highlight several spots on the projected map. “Most of these are based off of the data mining Nick has done. Several are from intelligence gathered from known Hydra members who have asked for our protection in return for their defection.”

Steve frowned. “That sounds to me like they are trying to get in on this SHIELD lite business.” He paused. “By the way, haven’t you got some snappy acronym for this? I feel like an idiot saying ‘SHIELD lite’.”

“If you can think of something, I’m all ears,” Maria replied with a pointed stare. “But I’ve been running on the assumption that the name isn’t nearly as important as some of our other tasks at the moment.”

“I’ll think about it,” Steve said, with his easy smile. “But you’re right. Let’s focus on our other tasks.”

“I think our best chances lie with you leading the charge, Captain,” Maria said. “I want you to take whoever you think you’ll need to get the job done. We’ll coordinate with Nick and systematically take out the bases and use any data found to make sure we’re not missing anything else.”

“Is Natasha up for this?” Steve asked. “I want her, I want Clint, and Sam and –“ he paused, looking at the ground for a brief moment, “I want Bucky, if you’ll clear him for it.”

“Steve,” Maria began, putting a finger to her lips. With her other hand still on his hip, the gesture looked less thoughtful and more like a reprimand. “It’s less about my giving him clearance and more about him wanting to go. But even if he does want to go, I can’t give him clearance without Sam giving him the green light too. You understand.”

“Yes, I do,” Steve said, pushing away thoughts that he might have to leave Bucky behind, pushing away thoughts that Bucky might want to stay behind willingly. His heart felt cold at the thought. “I also want Tony and Bruce on alert so they can help as needed. Thor, too, if he’s available. I’m never quite certain what Asgardian gods deal with on a day to day basis. And I want full reports on any Hydra defector. No one, and I mean no one with Hydra ties is allowed any sort of clearance whatsoever.”

“It’s not your place to give those orders,” Maria said firmly. “We are just as aware as you are regarding what happened last time and we are proceeding with extreme caution. If you think that I’m incapable of learning from our past mistakes, then I regret anything I might have done to earn that reputation.” She held his gaze, confident in her actions, knowing Steve had no reason not to trust her judgment.

Steve managed to look contrite as he spoke. “I think highly of you, Director Hill. Understand that from my position, I parked an aircraft in the water because I thought the sacrifice would rid the world of Hydra. So I’m a little wary of this second go around. I want to be absolutely certain that I won’t wake up a hundred years later to have to do this all over again.”

Maria nodded. “It’s my understanding that Natasha is not thrilled to go on this mission, but she might be persuaded. I’ll get word out to Clint and Sam and Bucky and we’ll go from there. Sounds good?”

“Sounds good.”

“And Steve,” Maria said as he turned to leave.

“Yes?”

“I don’t want you slacking on the organization naming front. I want some potential submissions by 1500 tomorrow, Captain.”

 

*

 

“God damn it, Steve,” Bucky growled, pacing the floor.

Sam looked on without saying anything. The two were in Sam’s temporary room at Stark Towers.

“We go out, he buys me some new clothes and dinner and it’s great and then in the same evening tells me how he’s got these grand plans to bring Hydra down – for good, this time, he says.” Bucky was glaring at every piece of furniture as though they were actively conspiring against him. “Hydra doesn’t go down for good and I just want to spend some time with him. Being normal.” He paused. “As close to normal as we could get, anyhow.”

“Given his line of work,” Sam said, “You might never really get a white picket fence happily ever after.”

“I know,” Bucky said, running his hands through his hair. “I just had this crazy idea that we’d pretend for awhile. I don’t know. Am I asking for too much?”

“I don’t think you’re asking anything unreasonable,” Sam replied. “You want to have a chance to get to know your friend again. You want to stay away from anything having to do with Hydra for awhile.”

“Right, exactly,” Bucky said.

Sam watched Bucky pace back and forth again before he continued talking. “The thing is, Hydra might not see it the same way. Hydra isn’t going to wait for us to regroup and rebuild.”

“You think I don’t know what Hydra will do?” Bucky said. “I know all about how Hydra likes to strike when you’re weak.”

“You’ve had a lot of experience with that,” Sam agreed. “And it’s not necessarily fair to ask you to get back out there and face them while you’re still recovering. But it’s an option, it’s just on the table.”

“I had heard of their Dark Winter op, in between mindwipes,” Bucky confessed suddenly. “I didn’t really piece it together on my own, though. They told me if everything went well, I’ve be getting a ‘friend.’ Then they would laugh. I wouldn’t have remembered any of it if Steve hadn’t been taken.” He had stopped pacing and was looking at the ground sadly. “I was useless then and I’ll be useless now.”

“That’s the wrong way of looking at it,” Sam said. “You’re painting yourself as useless, but you forgot that you’re the one who identified where they were keeping Steve. Just because you can’t help in the ways you’d like to doesn’t mean you aren’t helpful.”

Bucky’s forehead creased as he looked at Sam with tired eyes. “I want to believe you,” he said, “But I also want to stop feeling like I have to lower my expectations of myself.”

“You’ve made a lot of progress,” Sam said. “You don’t have to lower your expectations, you just need to shuffle them around a bit, you follow me?”

“No,” sighed Bucky.

“You have the option of saying you want to sit this out and no one is going to think less of you. Especially not Steve.” Sam paused. “Hell, he’d probably be relieved.”

“I can’t,” Bucky said. “If Steve is going, I’m going. That’s how it is, I know it. Even if some of my memories are fucked, we promised each other to the end of the line.”

“Then let’s focus on what you can do and forget the negativity, just for now,” Sam said. “Look,” he added, “Maria isn’t going to clear you for this without my approval and if you want it, you’ve got it. But I’m asking that you go at this in the best frame of mind.”

Bucky sat down heavily in the soft chair by the dresser. “Fine,” he said. “Shuffle my brain around. God knows I’m designed to be reprogrammed.”

Sam frowned. “I’m not –“

Bucky laughed, though the sound was harsh and not terribly comforting. “That was an attempt at a joke. Laugh.”

Although he chuckled gamely, Sam looked concerned. “I’m not asking you to change your thinking because I want to control you; I want you to be in control of yourself.”

“Hydra shudders at the thought,” Bucky said, trying to relax into the chair. “Ok. Let’s do this.”

 

*

 

“Yes, I’ll go with you.”

“Bucky –“ Steve started to say.

Bucky held up a hand. “It’s my own choice. I’m not sitting on my ass while you’re risking your life.”

Steve nodded. “I can’t not go,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“No one has ever tried to win me over by taking me on a murderous rampage against the people who tried to destroy me,” Bucky said slowly. “I’m somewhat impressed. And honored.”

Eyes lighting up delightedly, Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky in a tight hug. The corners of Bucky’s lips went up in a little grin. It was impossible not to feel a jolt of happiness when Steve smiled like that. Though Tony had provided them both with rooms to use while they were up in New York, Steve had spent the last two evenings in Bucky’s room. They hadn’t done anything beyond holding each other while they slept, but it had been a welcoming change of pace for Bucky.

Last night had been a personal record – only twice was he brutally awakened by nightmares he couldn’t quite recall the next day. A definite upgrade from the vivid nightmares where his brain replayed every memory of the last five decades he wished he could forget.

And then Bucky realized that his mind was wandering even as Steve’s arms were still around him. He leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder, just enjoying the comfort of being touched and the warm scent of Steve’s skin.

“I will kill every member of Hydra personally,” Steve was promising. His tone was quiet and calm to the point of terrifying. “I never want to hear about cutting off one head and two more taking its place again.”

“I want that too,” Bucky said, but his voice was softer and his flesh and blood hand shook as he tightened his grasp around Steve’s waist and the two men held each other in quiet desperation.

 

*

 

Brock Rumlow wasn’t a liar – he was, indeed, a patient man.

Even now, in a high security prison cell, he was patient. If _they_ wanted to think he was out of commission and Hydra was going down, let them. He cracked his neck, side to side. It would only make his victory sweeter.

Patiently, he sat on the hard, cold steel bedframe. The thin mattress didn’t matter. No, his plans hadn’t worked out as well as they could have, but – he remembered the way Steve’s eyes had gone completely blank with the last round of injected serum –

The groundwork had already been set in place. It was only a matter of time now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I wish Steve and Bucky could just be happy, but nooooo ... stupid everything is going to get in their way. But they're pretty tough guys. Just you wait and see!)
> 
> See you guys with the next installation of this series!


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